Fighting To Let You Go
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: He taught her that real love doesn't always make sense. But when Jeff leaves without warning, Trish is forced to deal with a pain that makes even less sense. TrishJeff mention of others
1. Just Let Me Hurt

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**A/N: Break-ups suck ass. Okay, so I probably don't have to tell you guys that. It's a topic that's been on my mind a lot lately, though, so I've decided to turn pain into poetry, so to speak. I know this pairing is different for me, but the muses are uncontrollable, and many times nonsensical. Enough of my bull shit - onto the story. As always, your reviews are not only welcome, but encouraged. If you want more of this story, let me know. I could end it as a OneShot and be okay with that - or I have ideas to move forward. It's whatever y'all want to see. Oh, and I barely own control of my damn self lately, so you know I'm not even tryin' to claim anyone else as mine. Enjoy!

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Everybody told her that it would get better. They said that the pain would fade with time. They all promised her that she would get over it. Everyone assured her that the sun would come up in the morning, just like it always had. They said that she would move on. And they all knew someone who would see her inner beauty and charm, who would love to help her through this difficult time.

The problem was that Trish Stratus didn't want to feel better. She didn't want the pain to fade. She didn't want to get over it. She didn't want the sun to come up tomorrow. She didn't want to move on. And she certainly didn't want anyone else. Jeff Hardy had broken her heart, and she just wanted to lie in her bed and cry for awhile.

_I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real. _As she wrote the words from Nine Inch Nails "Hurt", Trish felt more tears welling up in her eyes. _Why does everyone seem to have such a hard time with my pain? It's not like I'm asking them to feel it. I don't care if they go on with their happy little lives. But why do they all feel like it's their job to make me feel better? Why do I matter to them at all? What does it matter if one person is suffering? It's not like it effects their joyous existence._

As her tears hit the page, she watched the word "joyous" run over the line on the paper. Shutting her journal, Trish layed back against the fluffy blankets of her bed and squeezed her eyes tightly. There was no comfort, no relief from the tightness in her chest. His face was etched on her memory - smiling softly at her when she closed her eyes, staring back when she looked at the ceiling. No matter how loud she listened to the radio, his voice was in her ears. His words alternated between gentle professions of love to cruel reminders of how they could never work.

Breathing deeply before another round of sobs crashed over her, she inhaled his scent, still clinging to the soft cotton of the pillow case beside her. She ran her fingers over the traces of blue and purple hair dye, faint reminders of the nights he would collapse, too exhausted from a match to shower first. "_I think I'm broken," he would say, a cringe in his voice. "Fix it?" _

Her thin arms embraced the pillow, as they had wound around his chest so many times before. Resting her head against the fabric, the sound of his heart pounding in her ear assaulted her memory. Not for the first time, she wondered why he was gone. Why she was alone instead of cuddled up against his warm body, her heart fluttering as his fingers ran up and down her arm.

"_I'm leaving."_

_Distracted by the contract she was reading, Trish nodded. "Okay. I'll see you at the hotel?" _

"_No, Trish. I'm leaving."_

_Raising her dark eyes to his face, her features twisted in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked._

_He stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. "I'm leaving the company."_

_She knew the phrase was meant to be shocking, maybe devastating. But when it came to abandoning the WWE, Jeff Hardy was the boy who cried wolf – loudly and often. She had heard him contemplate retiring, quitting, going elsewhere, more times than she could count. "Oh," was all she said, returning to the paperwork in front of her._

"_I'm serious," he insisted, his arms folded over his chest. When she just nodded, he huffed like a child, and his blonde hair, still tinted pink from the night's performance, flopped over his forehead. "Look at me."_

_She did, on instinct. And she regretted it instantly. His eyes held no confusion – the conflict she was used to when discussing this topic was nowhere to be found. There was a clarity there, even an excitement, that she didn't want to acknowledge. His decision had been made. He knew what he wanted, and for the first time, he was ready to step out of his comfort zone and take it. He was actually ready to leave._

_And even as that realization washed over her, disbelief settled in, suffocating like a heavy blanket. "No," was all she could manage to squeak out before the tears began to pool in her eyes. He couldn't leave her. It was inconceivable. He was her world, her life. He was her love. He couldn't go._

"_Trish," he started, taking a step back to lean against the small hotel dresser. "You know it's about more than us, right? I mean," he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, his black nail polish a stark contrast against the golden locks, "there are more important things in life than romance."_

_It was as if her mind shut down and her body went numb. She could barely hear her own thoughts over the fear pounding in her chest, and the words seemed to belong to someone else. "Not to me." _

_She knew she wasn't being fair. Professionally, his actions were long overdue. Everyone knew he was unhappy with the direction he was being pushed creatively. And it wasn't much of a secret that his interests were divided between wrestling and whatever other hobby popped into his head for the moment. Dedication wasn't his strong suit, even Trish could admit that._

_But no one believed that he would ever quit. His family was there – he loved working with Matt. He had friends in the company, too. Lita, Rob, Christian, Edge, Jericho, and others would miss his acerbic wit and his quiet charm. And then there was Trish. _

_Anyone inside the company would readily admit that their union was indescribably perfect. There was an inexplicable connection between them, and energy that not only drew them to each other, but others to them. It didn't make sense, Hardy and Stratus, but it didn't have to. They were right together. They belonged together._

_With a heavy sigh, he pushed his weight off the dresser and offered her a crooked smile. "Trisha, you know it's not because I don't love you to death," he started._

_She didn't hear the next words coming out of his mouth, though. Anything he said was going to sound like the easy let down, and she didn't want to be let down easy. She didn't want to be let down at all. She wanted him to say that he loved her enough to make their relationship work, even if they weren't together all the time. But the look on his face as he delivered his "you know we never would have worked in the long run" speech told her what she wanted didn't really matter._

"_Who knows? Maybe it is right,"_ his words played in her head for the millionth time. _"But then it'll still be right when I get all this shit straightened out for myself."_

The telephone interrupted her memory and Trish cast a glance at the ID screen on her cell phone. Someone else calling to tell her that life would go on with him. Setting the ringer to "silent," she tossed it on the floor and rolled over, pulling her bedspread up around her shoulders.

Her bedroom had been designed as the ultimate place of relaxation, the perfect getaway for unwinding after long road trips. It had been a place where they could shut the world out and find warmth in each other's arms. But now, staring at the warm lavender paint on the wall, she gave a sardonic chuckle at the irony. Inside her safe place, her haven, she was cold and alone. The only person that could make it better was gone. And he wasn't coming back.


	2. Loving Memories

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**A/N: Today is not an easy day - November 13, 2005 will forever live under a black cloud for reasons most of you probably already know. To those who have vented and reminisced with me about the life and legacy of Eddie Guerrero, thank you. Just having you there to listen to my shock and disbelief has meant more to me than you can know. Sometimes I feel like the only thing I really have to offer the world is my writing, and though this story has nothing to do with Latino Heat, I am dedicating this chapter of happy reminiscence and painful loss to his memory. Maybe it's corny, but right now I just don't care. It makes me feel better. As always, I don't own any of the superstars mentioned here. Thanks for your reviews, and I'll be watching for more - I love you guys. Enjoy!

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"_Moo shoo?" _

_Trish groaned and stretched her arms above her head. Take out containers surrounded her on the bed, as Jeff offered her one and chewed his Chinese food slowly. "I'm full," she mumbled, leaning back against the head board and patting her stomach for effect._

_Swallowing, he raised an eyebrow in question. "Off an egg roll?"_

_With a slight giggle, she watched as he shifted on the bed and leaned beside her, nodding to his shoulder. Flopping her head over, she rested it against his neck and let out another little moan. "I ate before the show," she informed him, her eyes drifting shut lazily. "I thought I already told you that."_

_He huffed and rested his cheek against the top of her head, tossing his own dinner to the side. "Half a bag of Oreos doesn't count as dinner, Trisha," he insisted, worming an arm around her waist to pull her closer to his body. _

_Pouting, she turned her wide eyes to his and smiled again. It was impossible not to smile when staring into those eyes, that beautiful face. "I had a Twizzler, too," she assured him._

_His free hand reached for the television remote as he rolled his eyes and began to channel-surf. "Of course," he sighed. "What was I thinking?"_

_Trish giggled, crossing her arm over her body to lace her fingers with his. "Hopefully good things." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "About me."_

_Tearing his eyes from the football game on the screen, he placed a soft kiss on her temple. "Always."_

"TRISH!"

Jumping from sheer volume of his words, Trish turned her eyes to the man in her bedroom doorway, eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, shaking the old memory from her mind. "What was the question?"

A piece of paper dangled from each of Adam Copeland's hands, a stern look of concern on his features. "Do you want pizza or Chinese?"

After two days of hiding between her covers, drowning in her sorrow and self-pity, she had finally agreed to let her best friend into the house. As long as he promised not to talk. And now that he was breaking the agreement, Trish found herself irritated.

"I'm not hungry," she snapped, pulling her blankets back up over her head.

But Adam was tired of watching her mope. Or at least lay in the bed like a corpse. Throwing her covers back, he lifted her tiny frame into his arms and slung her over his shoulder. "Come on," he barked.

"What the hell?" Trish screeched, punching him in the back as hard as she could. Of course, it barely made him grunt, but it made her feel a little better, at least.

Stepping into the bathroom, Adam sat her feet on the floor and nodded toward the bathtub. "I'm ordering food and you're taking a shower," he laid the plan out for her, and then gave her a look that said he dared her to argue.

"I don't wanna eat anything," she insisted, crossing her arms like a defiant child. "And I don't feel like taking a shower, either."

Rolling his eyes at her immature behavior, Adam mimicked her stance and squared his shoulders. He had been determined, upon entering the house, to bring at least some part of the old Trish back to the land of the living. If it wasn't her twinkling eyes or her free spirit, he would focus on her shiny hair, at least. "You stink," he pointed out in the way only her best friend could say it.

"_I do not." Sniffing the armpit of his sweaty tee shirt, Jeff tried his damnedest not to react to the post-match stench that was rolling off of him._

Trish scrunched her nose up and pretended to push him away, shaking her ponytail. "I mean it, Jeffrey. No kisses while you stink."

_Hovering inches above her face, a wicked grin spread across his lips. "You wanna get my hard-to-reach places?" She giggled and he pulled her closer, his warm breath caressing her ear. "You know you want to."_

_She played coy, pushed him away, and did her best to set a stern expression on her soft features. Pointing to the shower, she motioned for him to go, and then smacked his ass as he stepped past her. He stripped his shirt, and then his pants, on the way to the shower, turning to cast another offering glance over his shoulder just before shutting the bathroom door._

He had been wrong that night, she hadn't wanted to shower with him. All she wanted to do was stand in front of the mirror, studying the stains his red and yellow paint had left on her jeans and her arms. She watched a single drop of his green hair dye coursed down her cheek, like an emerald tear, making it's way to her lip. That night, she had thanked God for bringing someone so colorful into her life, and for letting him love her.

The memory took her over and tears began to flood her face again. A couple of days ago, all she wanted to do was be alone with her pain. All she had wanted was to be left to her misery, to wallow in it and bury her face in the broad chest of agony. But as Adam sank to the floor before her and pulled her trembling body flush against his, she changed her mind.

As the sobs subsided, she looked at him with an expectant look. "When does it stop hurting?"

The naiveté and the innocence in her voice broke his heart, and Adam fought like hell to keep his own tears at bay. He had always told Trish that she had a shining smile – it was the kind of smile that lit up a room. And being with Jeff had only seemed to make that light ten times brighter. They had been good together, and Adam had always been glad to see two of his close friends so happy together.

But this Trish wasn't even the girl he had known before Jeff. The look in her eyes was broken, empty, and terrified. He sat back on the cold tile floor and cradled her in his arms. Shaking his head, he answered her question as honestly as he could. "I don't know."


	3. 10 Things I Miss About You

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**A/N: Thanks for the awesome reviews, guys. This story was hard to post, but I'm glad I did. And for those of you who have said you connect with Trish's emotions, thanks. It means a lot more to me than I'm willing to express here. So, keep the reviews comin', I don't own 'em, and as always, Enjoy!

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Just because her personal life was in complete disarray, Trish knew that the show had to go on. And though every venue brought a painful onslaught of memories, she plastered her trademark grin firmly on her lips and determined that her job would not fall victim to the same fate her heart had.

On-screen, she was the same old Trish. The fans assumed that the Hardy/Stratus thing was just a storyline anyway, and his leaving did nothing to change her in-ring persona. But behind the curtain, she was slowly slipping further away from everything she had once been. Holing herself up in the hotel-of-the-night and crying herself to sleep was the only event on her agenda, and she committed to it with what was left of her energy. Jeff Hardy was a hurdle her mind just couldn't jump, and she surrendered to the agonizing pain of being left face first on the track of heart break and loneliness.

Two weeks and a hundred sobbing fits after Jeff's exit, Adam made a suggestion. He was so sure that it would work for her, on some level, that he had refused to leave her room until she vowed to give it a shot. Though Trish thought he was full of bull shit and marshmallow fluff, she promised to commit her mind to the task he had laid before her, and pushed him out of the room with a little more force than she had intended.

After a hot shower and a chicken sandwich that tasted like cardboard, she wrapped herself in an oversized terrycloth robe and situated herself by the small table on the balcony of her hotel room. The balmy, late-night Phoenix air washed over her as she opened her journal and started her assignment.

_Things I Miss About Jeff_

_The anticipation in his eyes when he planned a date to somewhere I had never been, or to do something he knew I had never tried. Also, the pride in his eyes when he realized how impressed I was by the time and creativity he put into every outing._

_The way our fingers would kind of stick together when we held hands after a match. He was always in such a hurry to take the tape off, and sometimes he wouldn't get all of the adhesive washed away. He used to say he did it on purpose, so I couldn't let go of him._

_The sound of his sweet, Southern drawl when he said my name. Trisha. Sometimes it was a frustrated whine, which was cute. Other times it was a firm, "I'm not in the mood for your bull shit" kind of groan, which was also cute. Not sure which I miss more._

_The feeling of his wet hair on my cheeks in the morning. He was always up before me, in and out of the shower while I snoozed away. His hair tickled my cheeks when he got in my face and woke me up with those little kisses all over my nose and eyelids._

_When he was in the shower at night, and I was getting ready for bed at the bathroom counter, and he would make up those stupid songs about the soap or the shampoo. Even more, I miss the way he would always pretend he had no idea was I was there, even though we both knew he could hear me giggling right outside the curtain._

_That bastardly, shit-eating grin that would spread over his expression, all the way to the twinkle in his eyes when he knew he was just seconds away from taking my body to a place it had never been, a place I couldn't have imagined ever being. And the way he always whispered "amazing" under his breath when he rolled off me._

_The slight flare of his nostrils, and the angry crimson color that crept up his neck whenever Vince, or someone else in management, would say something about my weight, or the way my boobs or my legs looked in my costume for the night. _

_The way his whole demeanor shifted when he was in Cameron, like he was finally free to be himself and could relax again. And the smell of pine tar, and the glow of fireflies, in the woods that night we talked about our families until after midnight on that damned rotten log. Oh, and the way he picked the splinters out of the back of my jeans when we got back to the house._

_The sarcastic way he would shrug his shoulders and say "eh" every time I complimented his songs, or poems, or drawings. And the shy smile that he always tried to hide at the same time. I miss the way he always worked some inside joke that only we would get into his songs, and that all the women he sketched had one of my facial features. And the way he used to say it was because I had leaked into every part of his brain and he couldn't help himself._

_Every nod, look, or wave that said everything we were thinking or feeling without a single word._

As she continued her list, Trish realized something. Adam Copeland was a sneaky bastard. Without harassing or berating her, he had found a way to help her begin the healing process. In thinking about the little things, the things that made her love, and miss, Jeff the most, she had done the one thing she hadn't done since he left. She smiled.


	4. Moving On

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**_A/N: I don't really have much of a note - just to say thanks to a couple of people who have really helped my motivation lately. To Rachel (the Original Rachel) - thanks for getting my ass in gear for an update or two tonight. I know you didn't mean to, but it was a big help. Also, to Vera (my brilliantly genius equal) - thanks for encouraging me to finish this story. Your support of my ideas means more than you know - just because the pain is a bitch when we feel it does not mean that it can't be used for good, right? And to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, and connecting with this story - thanks a million. Your love alone has gone quite a long way in helping me get through a difficult situation. So, you know I don't own any of the people mentioned herein - and, as always - Enjoy!

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"You're kidding me, right?" Trish asked as Adam climbed into the bed and sat a tub of ice cream between them.

With a shake of his long locks, he offered her a spoon. "One hour, no interruptions. We can do it, Trish. If we apply ourselves."

He seemed so adamant, so sure that they could finish an entire gallon of ice cream in sixty minutes, that she felt bad informing him that she didn't feel like eating anything at all. Her match that night had been brutal, and she could already feel the start of a chest cold taking root. Food of any sort, even the cookie dough variety, just didn't seem appealing.

"What if I throw up?" she asked skeptically, taking the spoon from him as he turned the television on and settled against the head board beside her.

A characteristic wink preceded his trademark smile. "I'll hold your hair for you," he promised.

Casting a side-long glance at the concentration on his face, as he tried to find something they could both agree on watching, Trish thought about the man who shared her bed now. He wasn't Jeff, and maybe that was why she liked having him there. It wasn't like she could avoid all mention of her ex, seeing as she still worked with his brother and a lot of his close friends. But not _seeing_ him had made getting over him a lot easier than she had anticipated.

Once she had stopped clinging to the pain, Trish found that he was drifting further into her memory's background every day. By the time Adam had asked her on a real date, a trip to an alligator farm in Southern Florida, she was kind of surprised to find herself ready to move on. And her best friend seemed to be the most logical partner, as she couldn't really remember a time when he hadn't been a constant in her life. Sharing road trips, hotel beds, and kisses backstage felt natural with Adam, and she was confident in saying that she was perfectly happy with her life now.

"What's this?" she asked, as Adam shoveled a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and then mumbled an answer around it. "Nice," she rolled her eyes and kissed his nose without thinking.

Smiling, Adam managed to swallow his food and nod back toward the television. "TNA," he said simply.

Trish heard murmurings about the fledgling promotion around the company all the time. But no one really seemed too concerned that yet another group was stealing all of their former stars to build it's own reputation. So she, in turn, hadn't paid it much mind. She had her own career to think about, and if she remembered correctly, this TNA didn't even have a Women's Division. How good could it really be?

"The storylines are kinda weak," Adam criticized. "But the wrestling is pretty sick. Their X Division is insane," he added, nodding to the screen as AJ Styles made his way to the ring.

Trish focused her attention to the television as the announcers explained that, due to an injury, the champion's opponent for the evening would be unable to compete. They went on to say that his in-ring challenger for the evening was a complete surprise. Instead of listening to the build-up, she looked at the fans, the ramp, the tunnel, and the ring. It was all so different – so unusual. There was something about this atmosphere that just felt strange.

"It's so indie," she finally said out loud. When Adam turned to raise his eyebrow, she nodded to what she was watching. "Low budget, obviously. But it's got that hard-core, passionate fan-love feeling. Don't ya think?" _It's the kind of thing Jeff would love_. The thought raced through her head without permission or warning.

And, as if she had willed it to be so, the arena went dark and a video presentation started. Thumping music played, and a voice filled the arena just before his name flashed on the screen. Of course, she didn't need the name – she would know his voice anywhere. The way he sang was so sensual, with that sexy growl – sometimes she still heard it in her dreams, though it was no longer attached to his body.

The only sound in the room was that of Adam's spoon falling into the ice cream carton, now resting on his chest, just before it tumbled over the side of the bed and hit the floor with a dull thud. After a year of trying his best to keep Trish from thinking about that man, he was there – in all of his colorful glory, smiling and trading high-fives with the fans. The announcers went nuts, talking about what a great acquisition it was. But Adam felt like he was the one that would throw up before the night was over.

Reaching for the remote, he stuttered slightly. "We can change it," he said.

But Trish reached her hand out and touched his, drawing his eyes from the bedspread to her face. "It's okay, Sweetie. I can watch him wrestle without breaking into tears."

But tears were not what Adam was afraid of. "Can you watch him without falling in love again?" he asked, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice.

Turning her full attention from her ex on the television to her boyfriend in the bed, Trish rested a palm against his cheek and smiled, a full-on Stratus grin. "Adam, Jeff and I broke up a year ago. Any feelings I had for him at that time have long since passed. I would not be with you if I didn't want to be with **you**. You know that," she reminded, leaning forward until her forehead rested against his.

"You also haven't seen him," he voiced his concerns for the first time since they had started dating, three months earlier. He had done everything he could to ensure she wouldn't see him – made sure that Matt didn't talk about his brother when the two couples went out together, that no one else made mention of speaking to him, or seeing him out and about. How he had forgotten Matt's mention of Jeff's debut on the show that night was beyond him.

It wasn't that he was scared of losing her, though that was part of it. But Adam had never seen anyone as heartbroken as his girl had been over _him_. And, if it was the only, and last, thing he did, he would be sure that the woman he loved never cried those tears again.

Trish just kissed him, in hopes of calming his fears, and then settled back against his shoulder to watch the match. She could insist until she was out of breath and blue in the face, that she had no more feelings for Jeff. The truth, and everyone knew it, was that he would always hold a special place in her heart. If she was honest, she felt like he should, that he had earned that. He had loved her, and until the moment he left, he had always put her first. He showed her what love was supposed to be, and for that she would be forever grateful.

But she was nothing if not determined. And, as far as Trish was concerned, it was time to take what Jeff had shown her and apply it – to her relationship with Adam. Even if no one else believed her, she was over Jeff Hardy and ready to move on.

And if she reminded herself of that often enough, she thought she just might start to believe it.


	5. Seeing is Believing

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**_A/N: This is a re-post, as my previous chapter decided not to italicize. Enjoy! Oh, andI own no one.

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A loud rock beat permeated through the Matt Hardy's SUV, as he and Lita sang loudly with the song. Adam sat in the back seat, barely humming the tune as Trish leaned against his shoulder and watched the passing traffic on the Florida highway.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Adam whispered, tilting his head toward his girlfriend to be heard over the music. "Because we don't have to go. We could just ask Matt to drop us off. I'm sure he. . ."

He was interrupted as Trish wrapped one thin hand around his bicep, and rested the other against his thigh. "Adam. I am fine." She squeezed his thigh for re-assurance. "Relax."

With a nod, he kissed the top of her head as Matt pulled the car into the back lot where TNA would be taping for the evening. It wasn't her choice to be here. But after finishing a house show outside of Orlando, when the rest of her traveling companions decided they were close enough to visit their old friends, Jeff and Jay, she really didn't have any say in the matter.

Not that she would have argued. Truth be told, a part of her believed that it was finally time. After nearly two years of pushing him into the farthest corners of her mind, it was time she develop the ability to, at the very least, say "hello" to the man she had once laid talking to for hours in one setting. Besides, she had Adam now.

As they tumbled out of the vehicle, she grasped his hand again. "Hey," she whispered, leaning up to kiss the tip of his chin. Adam smiled down at her, though the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "I love you," she mouthed before pulling on his lower lip with her teeth.

Adam kissed her briefly, until Matt's question interrupted their impromptu PDA. "Did you tell Jay we were coming?"

Pulling away, Adam nodded and dragged Trish up to where Matt and Lita were now standing. "Yeah. It's gonna be great to see him again."

_The house was far from run-down, but it was no palace, either. The love, however, that Trish felt the moment she stepped into the living room, made it worth more than any home she had ever contemplated owning._

"_I didn't tell him we were coming," Jeff winked as he followed the sounds of lilting banjo music to the back porch. He turned back again, a child-like grin on his face. "He's gonna have a heart attack."_

_Biting her lip, she took a step back. "Well, Jeff, maybe that's not good. I mean, a man his age probably shouldn't be shocked into a heart attack," she whispered. It wasn't that she didn't want to meet his father, but after some of the stories Jeff had told her, Trish was afraid the retired tobacco farmer might make her cry._

_"Eh, the old man can handle watching his dumb ass son fly off a ladder into a table," Mr. Hardy's gruff voice sounded as the music stopped and the rocking chair he was seated in creaked. Turning, his weathered face cracked with a bright smile. "You might wanna get a new transmission on that truck before you try to sneak up on someone, Son," he laughed._

_Jeff just shrugged and shook his father's hand while Trish stood back, blushing. Calling his father an old man was not the best first impression she could have made. She began to pray that the rickety porch they were standing on would just collapse, providing at least some distraction from her foolish statement_.

_"Where's your manners, boy?" Jeff's father asked as he smiled over at Trish. It was a grandfatherly smile, one entirely too old for the man who possessed it. He was no older than her parents, but decades of work in the North Carolina sun had worn on him, and he his leathery skin felt calloused and hard against her bare shoulders._

_Jeff stood back and watched as his father examined Trish, more proud than he had ever been of anything. Sure, the tag titles were cool. Even winning an Intercontinental Championship was cool. But she was the first girl he'd brought over since high school – the first woman he had ever introduced to the man he both respected, and slightly feared – and the look of approval on his father's face meant the world to him._

_"Dad, this is Trish Stratus," Jeff answered with a boastful grin._

_Shaking his head again, Mr. Hardy pulled Trish into a tight hug. "You know my son is crazy, right?" Trish giggled and returned the embrace. "But he's a right fine young man." As he released her shoulders and stepped back to look over the happy couple, the older man shook his head again. "Of course, not nearly fine enough for the likes of you, Trish."_

"Trish!"

She was shaken from the first vibrant Jeff memory in months by the sounds of Adam calling her name at the door. "Sorry," she mumbled, taking his hand again. "What was the question?"

Adam's skeptical look returned as he held the back door open for her. "There wasn't one," he said.

With a slight blush and a nervous giggle, Trish shrugged. "Oh. Um, sorry," she sighed and brushed past him as she led him into the backstage area of the smaller promotion. If she could open her eyes wide enough, pretend she was happy enough to be there, maybe he wouldn't ask many more questions. Maybe she could stop herself from the onslaught of Jeff thoughts that had seemingly taken her over.

They had only been there for five minutes when Matt started seeing people he recognized. When Jay popped up a few minutes earlier, Trish knew that no one would notice her escape. Tugging on Adam's hand, she mumbled something about finding a bathroom and set off in search of a place to collect her thoughts.

It didn't matter that she hadn't seen him yet. His essence was here. His aura was around, and she could feel it. _Great_, she thought as she rounded the corner in the direction of the restrooms, _I'm even starting to think like him again._

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching, she located the bathroom. But a deep, Southern drawl interrupted her determined stride toward the door. "Hey, do I know you?"

Turning on her heel, she smiled at the dark-haired man standing about fifteen feet away. "Um, I don't know," she gave her standard answer. It was presumptuous to believe that people knew her because of her job. But it was also rude to insist that they didn't know her and run away.

"You're Trish Stratus, right?" the young man asked, snapping his fingers. She nodded hesitantly. They weren't backstage at the WWE anymore. And she still wasn't one hundred percent convinced that her little group of "outsiders" would be welcome here. "Oh man," he laughed.

Finally, Trish found her voice, and turned her body the rest of the way toward him. Taking a slight step forward, she plastered her "Stratusfaction" smile on and determined to give him an autograph and then get back to her moping. "Are you a fan?" she asked.

He shook his head and wiped his hand on his black warm up pants. "I'm AJ Styles," he introduced, offering the hand for her to shake.

The light of realization seemed to flicker on in Trish's head. "Oh," she sighed. "I love watching you in the ring, man."

He seemed to sense her posture change as he allowed his own shoulders to relax. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back slightly on his heels and smiled. "I also happen to appreciate your talent in the ring as well, Trish."

She smirked – it wasn't intentional. But a line like that was always followed by some sort of "but." With a shrug, she mimicked his stance. "You appreciate my other assets more, though, right?" She gave him a look that dared him to deny it.

But the Georgia native only seemed to grow more flustered. "No, no, no, no, no," he insisted, shaking his head vehemently. "I mean, I enjoy your other," he stopped and took a deep breath. "Damn."

Taking another step forward, Trish felt a slight sense of pity for the man. "It's fine," she assured him, placing a soft hand on his arm. He really was kind of cute when he blushed and smiled like that. She found it somewhat hard to believe that this guy was the same guy who oozed sexuality and arrogant confidence on her television weekly.

As he recovered from the humiliation, he swept his eyes over her flawless face. "You really do have the eyes," he stated, almost to himself.

He might have made more sense to her if he was speaking Japanese. As it was, Trish gave him a confused look and raised her eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Shaking his head again, AJ took a drink from the water bottle in his hand. "Jeff always says you have eyes a man could lose his soul in," he stated simply, as if she should have known that's what Jeff always said.

But she didn't know. She had no idea. For a few unguarded moments, Jeff's very name had eluded her. She could honestly say that she hadn't thought about him for the duration of her uncomfortable encounter with this adorably shy guy they called the Phenomenal One.

"Hey, Styles," a voice sounded, and not for the first time in her life, Trish wondered if thinking his name summoned him into existence. "They wanna see you," Jeff stopped cold as his eyes rested on her almost immediately upon turning the corner. "Up front," he trailed the ending of his message, as though all of his breath had escaped.

AJ just nodded, glad to not be the stammering idiot for a change. Extending a firm handshake to Trish, he nodded and smiled comfortably. "It was nice to meet you Trish," he winked.

When they were alone, Trish drank in all that was Jeff Hardy. His hair was blue tonight – his shirt and pants both black. His eyes still twinkled like a kid on Christmas morning. And his gaze still bore into her with a painful intensity that made her want to look away, but demanded that she didn't.

Finally, he cleared his throat and seemed to remember that he should probably say something. "Hey Trish."

In one moment, with one stare, and the sound of her name rolling off his lips one more time, she found that every defense she had built against him for almost two years came crashing at her feet, leaving her to stand in a pile agonizing vulnerability.

"Hey Jeff."


	6. Poetry's Not Enough

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**_A/N: Oh, I should so be in bed right now. But Jeff and Trish wanted to talk, so who was I to tell them no? This is the second to last chapter, and I know some of you will not be happy. All I can say is this: Remember that, when it comes to my stories, it ain't over 'til it's over. I don't own Jeff, Trish, or Adam. Read, Review, Live, Laugh, Love, and Enjoy!

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_"Trish Stratus, let me introduce you to Jeff Hardy," Lita smiled proudly as she dragged her new friend by the arm. Her boyfriend's little brother hadn't stopped talking about "that new blonde girl" for weeks, and the red-head finally decided it was time to arrange a little meeting between the two soft-spoken superstars._

_Trish blushed and stared into the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen up close. "Hi, Jeff," she forced her best extroverted smile and thrust her tiny hand forward for him to shake. She would not be shy, giggly Trish. She would wow him with her confidence, her poise, and her out-going nature. No matter how much he made her blush and lose all train of thought._

_The only comfort was that his own cheeks bore a slight pink tint as he shot her a million-watt smile and firmly returned her handshake. The naive-sound of his North Carolina twang made her heart flutter. "Seems like I've been waitin' forever for this moment."_

"So," Jeff rocked slightly on his heels as he spoke. Trish knew, all too well, that it was his trademark move when a situation was uncomfortable for him. "How've you been?"

She nodded, a little too zealously. "Good." Clearing her throat, she added, "Really good." In the awkward silence that followed, she spouted, "How 'bout you?"

Jeff's shoulder relaxed a little, and the confusion on his face said he didn't know whether to tell her the truth or not. "Decent," he answered simply. She mumbled something about how she was glad, and that's when Jeff's eyes met hers again. "I've missed you."

Two years, and a million pep talks later, Trish was in the place she had always known she would have to stand. Face-to-face with the man she swore she was over. Here they were, in a room that was seemingly growing smaller by the second, and she had no idea what to say, do, or think. "I gotta go find Adam," she mumbled.

But Jeff gave her a look that said there was no way in hell she was going anywhere. "I know you probably hate me," he started.

She shook her head. "I never hated you," she admitted. Sure, she'd had moments of "how could he do this to me" anger. There had been heartbreak and confusion. But she had loved him too thoroughly, too completely, to ever hate him.

After another long, painful pause, Jeff cleared his throat and looked around. The hallway was empty, as though everyone had known this would not be a comfortable event to witness. "I've thought about calling you a hundred times," he finally whispered.

Grasping for anything that would make her sound unaffected, apathetic even, she stared at her feet and prayed for an answer. "I'm glad you didn't," she said honestly.

He seemed to accept that answer as he looked her over. Jeff Hardy quit a lot of things before he finished them, but speaking his mind had never been one of them. If he had something to say to Trish, he wasn't going to quit until he had gotten it off of his chest. "You deserved an explanation – more than the one I gave you."

As though his words caused something in her head to snap, Trish looked up and shook her head. "You explained yourself perfectly, Jeff. Our relationship was just a stumbling block in your little path to self-discovery," she spat, a little more harshly than she had intended.

Instead of drawing back at the venom she was spewing, he took a step toward her and shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest. "Walking away from you that night was the hardest thing I had ever done, Trisha."

Adam had once told her, before they were dating, that she would reach a point when all of the hurt she felt over what Jeff had done would fade into anger over how he had done it. And, as Trish realized that the "day of reckoning" had arrived, she almost wished Adam was there to witness it.

Biting back all of the evil things that jumped into her head, she shrugged. "Seemed pretty easy that night. You just kinda laid it out there and walked away," she accused.

He had always made her feel off-balance. When they had been a couple, it was an incomparable adrenaline rush, one that made being in the ring, in front of a live audience, seem tame. It had been exciting back then. But now it made Trish want to throw up, as Jeff took yet another step in her direction, his intense stare boring into her defiant gaze.

"You were my heart, Trish. My soul. And you were broken. Watching you cry on that bed, it damn near killed me. When I walked away, it was like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest and left it there on the bed to die. I couldn't let you know that it was killing me – that would have only hurt you more." He stopped his forward motion and studied her.

Trish shook her head. "It's been two years, Jeff. Almost two years." She wanted to stomp her feet and act like a child. Instead, she crossed her arms and leveled him with her stare. "Do you have any idea how long that is?" When he didn't answer, she took a step away from him. "Too damn long."

When he finally lifted his eyes from the floor, there was a twinkle of inspiration there. "Time and space cannot untangle the chords with which fate binds it's souls," he stated.

That was Jeff Hardy's charm. The poet in him said all of the things that a woman dies to hear, even if she won't admit she's dying for it. It had been the thing that drew Trish to him in the beginning, his willingness to profess his feelings for her at a moment's notice, in the most passionate of ways.

"Ya know what?" Her blonde hair swirled around her shoulders as she shook her head again. "Not this time." He looked surprised. "You don't think, Jeff. You don't use your head. You feel. You wanna live and love with your heart and your soul. And that's beautiful. It makes beautiful music and poetry and art." She huffed slightly, as if realizing what she was saying for the first time. "But it doesn't make a relationship work.

"Commitment makes a relationship work, Jeff. And you have to decide to do that with your head. You wanna believe that love is only worth it if you're walking a tight rope all the time, never sure of what's gonna happen next. And that was exciting, for awhile." She looked at him, the faintest trace of a tear in her eye for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She had spent months, more than a year, trying not to do this very thing. And now she was frustrated, irritated, and pissed at herself for showing him any emotion.

With a sigh of resignation, she said the last of what she had to say to Jeff Hardy, content to say good-bye forever. "I can't do it again. I can't even entertain the notion of inviting you back in. You made me believe that love was unstable because life is unstable. That we never know what tomorrow brings, so planning for a future is silly. You convinced me that the "right now" was more important than anything else. And I wanted to believe you.

"But to me, love isn't poems about destiny and fate and unbreakable chords. Not anymore. It's about knowing I'm gonna walk around that corner in a minute, and Adam's gonna be there. Because he said he would be. It's the assurance that he's going to hold me tonight when I fall asleep, even though he'll be pissed as hell that I just spent all this time talking to you.

"What we had was electric. It was amazing, and I'll never experience passion like I did with you, Jeff. But I can't be with someone who always takes the easy way out." By the time she finished speaking, her voice was cracked, and tears stained her flawless cheeks. But her words were clear, and their meaning crystal.

In her tangent, Trish hadn't noticed Jeff taking baby steps in her direction again. So a small shiver of shock ran down her spine when he reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. For a split second, she thought for sure he would kiss her. But instead, he licked his lips and narrowed his eyes.

"You're right, Trisha, about most of what you said. You've pretty much got me pegged, down the last finite detail. " He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Except for one thing. I do think. Every day, about walking away from you. I wish that I could do it again. I would do it every day, if I could."

Unsure of meaning in his words, Trish stood still, waiting for an explanation. "As hard as I thought it was to leave you there? Baby, it was nothing compared to the agony of waking up every day since then without you. I think about that every day. I think about how I could have made us work – how I should have made us work. And I pray for a chance to do it again."

She sucked in a breath as he lowered his face slightly. He was mere inches from her mouth now, and his breath on her skin was turning her anger to a slow, simmering tension that heated her to the core. "Jeff," she sighed.

"You may not believe in destiny, Trisha," he whispered. "But you're here, and I'm touching you again. And I have to believe that it means something."

A loud bang sounded from somewhere behind them, causing Trish to shake her head and look over her shoulder. Adam's flowing blond curls were all she saw before the heavy back door clanged shut again. _"Yeah, it means everything just got a hell of a lot more complicated."_


	7. No More Lies

**Fighting to Let You Go**

**_A/N: I have to admit I was a little surprised at the reviews for the last chapter. I'm glad to know, though, that you guys care enough about the characters to want them all to get a happy ending. This story was hard to write - but it was also incredibly theuraputic. Thank you all for your support! You're the best. And this is it - the final chapter of Fighting to Let You Go - Enjoy!

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An hour earlier, the Orlando air had been thick with humidity. But as Trish stepped out of the building and watched Adam's back, she felt an unexpected chill. He rested lazily against the chain-link security fence, his fingers barely clutching the metal as he rested his forehead there. For a moment, she wondered what she could possibly say to explain the moment he had just witnessed.

"I told Jeff that I'm with you now," she finally spoke calmly as she moved toward him.

Turning, Adam leaned against the fence and smiled. "I'm sure he didn't buy it either, Trish."

She sighed. "I've told you a hundred times, Adam. What Jeff and I had was good. I loved him. But it's over. I'm with you now," she repeated, stepping even closer.

"Why?" Adam asked, stepped away from her and kicking a rock from the asphalt. When Trish didn't answer, he turned to her and put his hands on his hips.

She stuttered. Why? Did she really have to explain herself? Wasn't it enough that she just did? "Adam, why can't you just trust my feelings for you? What do I have to do to show you that there is no one else I want?"

She felt as though she was at the end of her rope. She had said everything she could think of to convince this man that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Turning her back to the fence where he had just been, she leaned against the hard metal and rubbed her hands over her face. It was bad enough that Jeff had once again turned her world upside down. But now Adam was throwing her off balance, too. "You're my best friend," she whimpered slightly. It was the final card in her hand, the last thing she could think of to show him that he was important to her.

He hoisted himself onto a nearby dumpster and nodded. "I know," he conceded. With a tender look, he smiled again. There was nothing vicious or cold about the smile. It wasn't the smile of a heartbroken man, trying to fight tears with a big fake grin. It was genuine and loving, and it held all of the affection that he had for the woman staring back at him.

They spent a long moment just looking at each other. No words seemed necessary as the still night wrapped its comforting arms around them. "I'm so sorry, Adam," she finally whispered. "I never wanted to hurt you."

He nodded. "I know, Trish," he answered softly, as though a loud voice would shatter the peace they had both found in silence. "I really thought we could make it work, ya know? Isn't that supposed to be how it works? Best friends first, lovers to follow?" She smiled and gave a slight eye roll. "Seeing you after Jeff left was so hard for me. You were my girl, and you were so broken. I never wanted that to happen again - I never wanted to see those tears from you again," he shook his head and jumped down from the dumpster.

For the first time, Trish saw it. Deep in his eyes, she saw the truth. "And if you were my man, nobody else could hurt me like Jeff did," she whispered. He just nodded and walked toward her. "I love you, Adam," she smiled.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, too, Trish," he spoke.

She could tell that he meant it. She knew she meant it. But it wasn't the love they had been professing for months. It was the love of two best friends who would do anything to keep each other from getting hurt - even if it meant sacrificing their own chance at true happiness.

Something broke between them in that moment. It was as if the proverbial elephant in the room had finally been addressed, and expelled. Without actually breaking up, Trish knew that her romantic involvement with Adam was over. But any sadness she would have felt at the end of a normal relationship was just filled with elation at the prospect of having her best friend back.

"Can I tell you something? Honestly?"

Adam nodded and pushed back from her slightly. "Of course. But first, I have to tell you something," he blushed slightly and looked at his shoes. Trish squeezed his hand, encouraging him to go on.

With a slightly deviant smile that made him look like a small child with a secret, he licked his lips. "I met someone."

As if it were the ultimate test, Trish did a mental check. She felt no twinge of jealousy. No anger filled her chest, only a sense of joy that her friend looked so happy at this news. "Who?"

Adam shook his head. "You're not gonna believe me," he said. She braced herself for something horrible, but nothing could prepare her for the next word out of Adam's mouth. "Lita."

Trish didn't try to hide her shock. "Matt's Lita?" she asked.

He shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. But only slightly. "I can't explain it, Trish. Other than to say she makes me feel like Jeff makes you feel."

Taking a step back, Trish shook her head. "Oh no! Jeff doesn't make me feel anything," she looked away and then back at him, surprised that the denial had come out so forcefully, with such ease. But the steady glare he gave her told her to shut up and stop lying to herself and to him.

She shook her head again, though. "Doesn't matter if he makes me feel like a princess or like I'm going to throw up on my shoes, or whatever other way that's supposed to mean he's THE ONE or whatever," she rolled her eyes.

Adam took her hand and dragged her back toward the building. "Stop spewing bull shit for thirty seconds and think about what you felt when he touched you back there," he instructed. Trish gave him a defiant look. "Fine," he threw his hands up. "Go ahead and pretend it was nothing. But we both know it wasn't."

And with that, he disappeared into the building once more, leaving Trish to contemplate the one truth she had been running from for months. Staring out over the back lot, she sighed and pulled her knees to her chest. She wouldn't worry about how they were going to make a long-distance relationship work. She wouldn't worry about what happened to them the next time he decided to "find himself." She wouldn't even think about whether or not it could be as good between them this time as it had been the first.

She still wanted the butterflies that he set free in her tummy. She wanted the fury that he ignited in her head. And she wanted the passion that he evoked in her soul. She wanted the poetry, the songs, and the art. No matter how much time passed, and no matter how unsure she was of the outcome, she still wanted Jeff Hardy.


End file.
